The Last One
by amieofabc
Summary: Roger wasn't supposed to be the last one to die, right? A one-shot from Roger's POV, I hate the ending but that's what it is, so too bad for me. Rated T for language.


I wasn't supposed to be the last one to live. The third, maybe, but DEFINITELY not the last. I was supposed to waste away slowly with my friends in the room. Not waste away slowly while watching them all die.

I guess I could've figured out Collins going on the Valentine's Day after Mimi went. We cried that day for a full hour and vented. Nobody wanted to say it, but the real reason we were so depressed was that it was like losing the last piece we had of Angel. The other unspoken truth was that I was the only one left with Scarlet Letters on my chest that read "A.I.D.S." We buried Collins in his beanie.

Maureen and Joanne went together, ironically enough. They were going to California to celebrate Joanne's greatest case, plus Maureen had always wanted to see a "real" beach. Their plane went down in a field somewhere near Kansas City after being struck by lightning. Mark and I viewed six Jane Does before we found Maureen, who, as usual, had been carrying a fake I.D. because it made her feel "dangerous".

Mark never really recovered after that. He never was very outgoing, but after the double funeral, I was lucky to get a full sentence out of him. He didn't rant against Benny when the power went out anymore, didn't make fun of me when I watched "Ghost Busters". The only time he was guaranteed to speak was his daily reminder: "Take your AZT." Like I really wanted to shove those crappy little white tablets down my throat day after day to prolong my pathetic existence. But it made him feel better, so I did, and he slowly became himself again. The camera emerged every now and then, his scarf melded back into a personality trait instead of a simple piece of cloth. Then, without warning, one day in March, the phone rang while Mark was out filming.

"_Speeeeeak."_

"Hi, my name is Shirley Knowles, I'm with the NYPD."

My heart stopped dead for a beat.

"We believe we may have found your roommate, Mark Cohen, on the intersection of 14th Street and Avenue D. He's being held in the ICU of Saint Mary's, and we need you to verify that we have the right man."

I was halfway out the door by then, tracing a route to Saint Mary's Hospital in my head. The subways, which had always jolted me with their speed, now seemed to be crawling at a snail's pace. They made me fill out paperwork when I finally arrived, hands shaking too much to write legibly, and, I realized when I looked at a glass door, looking like a madman.

It was Mark alright. There was no mistaking that mess of strawberry-blonde hair or those ice-blue eyes. What I didn't recognize was the mass of tubes and monitors he was hooked up to. Or the blood-soaked bandages tied around his head and chest. "Hey Rog." He said weakly.

I stood speechless for a moment before stuttering out "What the hell happened to you?"

He shrugged. "I was on my bike, it was getting dark. I took The Shortcut."

Ah. The Shortcut, discovered by Collins and me ten years ago. It consisted of three narrow alleys that cut across the streets we normally walked around. We didn't go through it if we could avoid it though, it was a well-known fact that the more violent druggies hung out in there. For someone as scrawny as Mark to ride through after dark was near suicidal and he knew it. "And they just cut you up for no reason?"

"Not exactly."

"YOU **GAVE** THEM A REASON?" How stupid is he?

"Calm the fuck down! You would've done the same thing!"

"Mark, I swear to god-"

"They were selling to kids Roger. Kids! Don't tell me you would've stood by and watched fifteen year-olds destroy their lives!"

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the beeping of Mark's heart monitor. He was right, I wouldn't have stood by, but then again I wouldn't have been in the alley either. "I just don't get how you could be so stupid! After everything I've been through, how could you do this to me?" He didn't say anything, just stared at his hands, eyes cold. I took a few deep breaths before I approached him. "You're all I have left, Mark. We're it, even if we don't want to be. That's just how life worked out, and I know it sucks sometimes." He glared at me. "Okay, lately it sucks all the time. But you have to give it a chance to get better! I don't wanna lose you too, okay?" I was frantic, pleading.

"Roger…" he grasped my hand suddenly.

"What?"

"I'm not getting out of here. I'll be lucky if I even last the night."

It was like I'd been dumped into a bucket of ice water. Every last breath of air went out of my lungs as a chill penetrated every cell of my being.

Mark.

Was.

Going.

To.

Die.

"You-you don't know that. You'll be out in no time, you just need-"

"Don't. Roger, just don't. I can't handle getting our hopes up again just so you can sit there at the funeral wondering what the hell went wrong."

Mark was right. He died at 4:32 as the sun began to turn the sky from black to gray, the colors running together like ink. I'm proud to say that I didn't let Mark lose his dignity. I contained my anger at his utter stupidity and let him speak. And speak he does, letting out every drowned emotion about Angel, about Maureen, about April and Mimi and…me. I thought I knew everything about him, and yet…I won't go into all that he said, but I learned something from his death. One: Life is incredibly fucked up sometimes, and Two: It's possible to be with and care about someone without knowing them.

I wish I had gone first though.


End file.
